


My Hair Smells Like Chocolate

by nylandeer



Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Burning, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Drugs, F/M, Kink, Marijuana, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smoking, Sub Zayn, Weed, pot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:00:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylandeer/pseuds/nylandeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perrie comes home to find Zayn high, then they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Hair Smells Like Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by several conversations with ihavea1dbloghelp/ymorton about how much we'd like to see Perrie dominate Zayn. Also by Zayn & Louis smoking in Peru & subsequent conversations with azaelachung. Enjoy.

By the time Perrie gets home from rehearsals, the flat is already hazy and grey with smoke, so thick it almost makes her cough. She kicks off her trainers and follows the wafting scent towards the bathroom, where Zayn and Louis are lying on the tiled floor, smoking a joint. Zayn takes a hit before he sees Perrie standing in the doorway, and coughs out the smoke with a smile.

“Pezza,” he coos, stretching out her name into never-ending syllables.

Louis snatches the join from Zayn’s dangling hand, his face plastered with a lazy smile and drooping eyes.

“Don’t mind us!,” Louis giggles, “We’re just smoking. Ya know, that Mary Jane, that reefer.”

“You’re an idiot Lou,” Perrie scoffs.

“Ouch,” Louis says, clapping his hand over his heart, “You hurt my feelings Pezza. How ever will I recover?” Zayn cackles from the floor beside him, his face screwed up tight. “Anyways, I should get going, people to do, things to see,” he says, rising from the floor. “Wait, no… That’s not quite right is it?” He passes the joint to Perrie as the exists the bathroom, mumbling to himself.

Perrie, still in the doorway, looks down at her fiance with piercing eyes. Zayn’s face goes from carelessly happy to stoic in seconds.

“Perrie,” he starts.

“It’s fine,” she responds, her tone sharp.

“No, no, I know you hate it. I shouldn’t have smoked in the flat. Louis just came over with with joints and, well, you know how he gets.” He looks crestfallen, like a toddler who just disappointed their mother.

“Actually,” Perrie muses, “Can I have a hit? Toke? I’m not sure what to call it.” Zayn’s face goes from concern to a confused wonder. Somewhere in the distance, Louis yells a goodbye and the front door slams.

“Yeah, yeah of course Pez.”

She joins him on the bathroom floor, legs crossed in front of her, now unlit joint in hand. She leans forward as Zayn strikes the lighter and sparks the joint, its tip glowing orange and black. They sit there for a few minutes, passing it back and forth, taking hits and coughing them out into the haze of the room.

“Hey Z?” Perrie prompts. Zayn nods with the joint clasped firmly between his lips. “I wanna try something.” Zayn nods again. “You know on Skins, where one person will take the hit, and then breathe it into another person’s mouth?” Nod. “Can we try that? You take the hit, and blow it into my mouth?” Zayn nods aggressively, then takes a long hit, exhausting the joint.

He sits up and motions for Perrie to move close to him. She scoots across the cold floor, then presses her lips to Zayn’s. He smells like weed and lavender, and she twists her fingers into his hair. He coaxes her mouth open with his tongue and softly blows the smoke into her mouth. She can feel it snaking into her lungs, but its softer, smoother, than when she took the hits alone. After what seems like an impossibly long time, she pulls away, holding the smoke in for a moment, then blows a thin stream of smoke from slightly parted lips.

“Shit,” Zayn murmurs, his eyes wide and fixed on her. “That is, the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Perrie busts up laughing, doubling over with her head in her lap.

“You sound like such a teenage boy right now Zayn! Smoking weed for the first time and discovering your first boner.” Zayn’s smile never falters, and Perrie can’t help but think that he looks sort of angelic; mussed hair, glassy eyes, and steady smile. And all she wants to do is wreck him.

“Zaynie,” she purrs, her voice newly low and raspy, “Lets go to bed.” His eyes light up and he practically leaps off the floor, wrapping his hand around Perrie’s wrist and dragging her towards their bedroom. She deftly tugs from his grasp and clucks her tongue at him, as he quirks his brow. Perrie glides into the bedroom, Zayn following like a confused puppy dog, and sits deftly on the bed.

“Zayn, take off your clothes,” she instructs in a rasp. His eyes light up, realizing what is going on. He’s missed this, missed it so much. He stalls for a moment, obviously trying to rile her up, before he slowly takes off his shirt, one slow inch at a time.

As he pulls the shirt over his head, Perrie starts to touch herself slowly over her leggings. He pops the button on his jeans and tugs down the zipper in one swift move, shimmies them every so slightly from his hips until he’s standing there in only his pants. His tattoos are dark against his already dark skin, the ink shifting with his every movement.

“Touch yourself,” Perrie orders from the bed. “Do it slowly.”

Zayn's fingers glance over the gun tattooed on his hip with a wince as he reaches into his pants and curls his hand around his cock, already partially hard, and takes himself in long, slow strokes, eyes shut, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. Perrie just stares at him for a few minutes, her fallen angel, a beautiful mirage amongst the haze of smoke and her shaky high. After a minute of this, deliberating on her next move.

“Stop,” she commands, and with a pained look, he removes his hand

“Oh Zaynie,” she coos from her seat on the bed, “You were smoking in my flat. Without me, and without my permission. You know how I hate that.” His eyes light up but his face falls.

“I’m so sorry, Miss,” he replies, almost hissing the last word.

Perrie unfolds herself from the bed and takes two long strides to where Zayn is standing. She wraps one arm around his waist, digging her nails into his arse, and tangles the other hand in his hair, tugging ever so slightly as she crashes their lips together. She pushes her tongue through Zayn’s lips opening him up to her. He moans softly into her mouth as she digs her nails in deeper and tugs his hair harder.

“Perrie,” he whines, “Pezza, please.”

Perrie pulls back sharply, draws back her hand and brings it to collide with his cheek, resulting in a sharp smack and a pink welt blossoming on Zayn’s face. He groans, and Perrie can feel his cock twitch against her hip.

“What did you call me?” she asks, her eyes dark, voice almost a snarl.

“Perrie,” Zayn replies, voice defiant and heavy. He sucks a quick breath, and Perrie can feel his body stiffen as she draws her hand back and lays another sharp smack over the mark left by the first one. He stumbles back, one hand cupped over his throbbing cheek, the other reaching to brace himself on the short dresser behind him.

“Turn around,” Perrie snaps. Zayn turns himself around, bracing himself on his forearms on the dresser. Perrie opens the closet and pulls out one of Zayn’s thick leather belts, catches him glancing back at her over his shoulder. She make her way over to him, and she can see him tense, bracing himself for the sting of leather on his arse. Instead, she brings his wrists together and cinches them tight with the belt. Perrie hooks her fingers under his pants and pulls them off, helping him to step out of them one leg at a time.

“Did Louis bring any more joints?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn replies, voice low and husky. “It’s on the bathroom counter.”

Perrie finds it, laying on the bathroom counter next to zippo with the ‘westside’ gang sign etched into it, and a small ‘LT’ in the bottom right corner. She rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh as the wedges the joint between her lips.

“Louis, you motherfucker,” she mutters around the joint. “I cannot believe that idiot is going to be the best man at my wedding.”

She makes her way back to the bedroom, sparking up the joint as she goes. It’s easier this time, with the buzz dulling her lungs to the burn of the smoke, and she doesn’t cough. When she returns, Zayn is still bent over the dresser, and she smirks at his ass raised high in the air, still hard cock dangling between his legs. She lays a sharp smack on his ass, making every muscle in his body tighten, letting out a hiss through clenched teeth and sliding forward on the dresser.

Perrie offers Zayn the joint, holding it between her fingertips as he takes desperate puffs. As he takes in a big hit, she caresses his backside, tracing over the raised red marks and dipping her fingers into his crack. When she dips one finger into his hole ever so slightly, he coughs out his hit with a quick cry.

“Perrie, please,” he begs.

“Oh Zayn, I thought you understood that you weren’t to call me that.” Perrie takes a heavy hit from the joint, and holds it over the small of Zayn’s back. She taps it once, twice, ashing it onto Zayn’s back with an almost imperceptible fizz. He doesn’t even flinch. She takes another hit, and this time, touches the glowing tip of the joint to one of the dimples in Zayn’s back for a fleeting second. He moans so softly it comes out as a purr, and he curls his back upwards like a cat.

“Touch me,” Zayn begs again, his voice heavy and rough with desperation. “Please Miss, touch me.”

Perrie smiles and obliges him, running a hand up his thigh until she takes his cock in her hand. He rocks his hips down, his movements desperate and ragged. Perrie takes one last hit from the dwindling joint, and then presses it into a notch on Zayn’s spine to put it out. He cries out, and rocks himself harder into her hand before he comes, white streaking his thighs and Perrie’s hand. She wipes her hand off in his hair, giving another small tug before pulling away.

“Go lay back on the bed,” Perrie instructs, and Zayn is quick to follow her direction. He lays on his back, wrists still cinches together and laying lightly over his softening cock. Perrie begins to undress, stripping off her sweaty, sticky workout gear left on from rehearsals and tossing it aside piece by piece. Zayn starts to touch himself, stopping when Perrie throws him a cautioning glare, and raising his arms to rest above his head. The last thing to come off are Perrie's panties, a black pair that she takes in hand as she climbs onto the bed and crawls up Zayn's body. She comes to a stop over his chest, takes the underwear both hands and wraps them around his head, doubling up the fabric, then pulling them down over his eyes. She leans down to whisper in his ear, "Don't peak," and his nods furiously.

Perrie reaches out to grip the headboard with one hand, pulling herself forward until she's positioned over Zayn's mouth. She places one hand into his dark hair, stiffened by his own come, and lowers herself onto his waiting mouth. He moans, and sending vibrations to her clit, and making her squirm. Zayn licks, eager and desperate, in long, fast strokes; dipping inside, then running the flat of his tongue over her clit. Perrie moans and bucks, twisting her hand harder into his hair as she comes, her body clenching and back arching above him.

Perrie pulls away and makes her way back down his body to sit just over his cock. His lips and cheekbones shine slick and red, his hair a mess; he looks completely obscene. Perrie sinks down carefully onto his cock, still sensitive from the orgasm, and both let out a strangled groan. She rides him, bobbing up and down on her knees over his blindfolded and bound form, tattoos shifting as he writhes beneath her. They both come to their second orgasm quickly, and Perrie collapses onto Zayn's chest.

After a few minutes, she crawls off of him and onto the bed by his side. She removes the makeshift blindfold and bind carefully, massages his wrists where the leather made welts, and kisses his cheeks where her slaps fell. He wraps his arm around her shoulder to bring her in tight, kisses her forehead, and keeps her in a close cuddle.

"That Louis is an idiot," Perrie drawls sleepily, "but he's got some damn good weed."

**Author's Note:**

> Straight from my brain to you. Will be editing later. All constructive criticism welcome. Find me at restingonhislaurels.tumblr.com if you'd like :)


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